


Here Is Home

by OnMyShore



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Queer Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Future Fic, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore
Summary: The sun is starting to go down, casting long shadows across the lawn, and the temperature is starting to dip with it. Stevie can feel goosebumps on her arms where she’d pushed the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows earlier. Patrick will be back any minute with the pizza; they ought to get up and at least attempt to find some plates so they don’t end up with their dinner in their laps. Instead, Stevie bumps her shoulder against David’s. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”David, and Patrick, and the place they call home.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 51
Kudos: 267





	Here Is Home

**Author's Note:**

> I set out to write a cute fic about their cute house, and then it kind of exploded. I blame the quarantine and my stir-crazy brain. Thank you to [MarcellaBianca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca) for the late-night beta and the words of encouragement, which were much appreciated.
> 
> When it comes to the layout of the house, it's best to take the same approach that the writers took to the show's timeline: don't think about it too much.

1.

Stevie’s not sure she could lift another box if they paid her to do it (which David and Patrick most definitely are _not_ ). She’s exhausted, and achy in places that she feels like she would be better off not knowing. The first order of the day, which started at an ungodly hour (for her and David, anyway), was packing up David’s overflow wardrobe, which wouldn’t have fit in Patrick’s apartment even before they started packing up everything inside. The motel closet’s actually been empty for several weeks, the clothing lovingly tucked into suitcases and cardboard wardrobe boxes. Stevie had allowed them to remain stacked in the honeymoon suite under lock and key until moving day, on the promise of wine and that really good cheese they know that she likes.

The early start was bad enough, but then they’d had to empty out Patrick’s third-floor _walk-up,_ a process Stevie hadn’t actually thought all the way through until the first trip down to the truck with an armload of overstuffed boxes. The only saving grace was that all the furniture except the mattress had been moved into the truck the day before with the help of Ronnie and Roland (and Jocelyn providing moral support with Roland Jr. strapped to her chest), because David and Patrick were idiots who thought they could save money by not hiring actual professional movers.

All told though, aside from the early start and all the manual labor, the day could have been a lot worse. Stevie had gotten to watch David help maneuver the mattress down three flights of stairs, which had been worth the price of admission alone, and Twyla had surprised them at the apartment halfway through the morning with coffee and muffins, though she’d been quick to rush off before anyone could coerce her into grabbing a box or two.

Even the weather had been cooperative; it was a little warm for early fall, but the sun had mostly stayed hidden behind the clouds, so it was never so hot as to become uncomfortable (which was a good thing, because Stevie was already sweating more than normal from all the lifting). The early wake up had been excruciating, but it also meant they’d had the truck unloaded at the new house by mid-afternoon, boxes labeled KITCHEN and BEDROOM in David’s precise handwriting at rest in the rooms that would become their final homes. The unpacking would happen later - Stevie had made it very clear that part was very much _not_ her problem. David had just rolled his eyes and said he didn’t need her going through their stuff anyway.

Patrick had left a few minutes ago to pick up pizza and beer as a standard (and inadequate, in Stevie’s opinion) thank-you-for-helping-us-move-our-shit offering. Stevie has the sneaking suspicion he’s left them behind on purpose; David had done a surprisingly good job of holding it together today - for David - but it was becoming clear that he was getting close to the end of his rope by the time the last of the boxes had been hauled inside. Closing the back of the truck, Patrick had volunteered to pick up dinner, waving off David’s half-hearted offer to join him with a kiss to his temple. Sometimes, David needed a little time to decompress at the end of a long day, and sometimes, that took the form of a little quiet time and the promise of food.

Stevie and David are sitting on the porch now, the driveway and perfect square of lawn laid out before them. Stevie is leaning back on her palms with her legs stretched out in front of her; beside her, David is resting his elbows on his knees, one hand loosely clasped around his wrist. His face is uncharacteristically soft; he hasn’t scowled once at the U-Haul still parked in the driveway, where it will stay until they return it in the morning.

“I think you need a tree,” Stevie says, to break the silence.

David nods at the far corner. “We already have a tree, though?”

“I know,” Stevie says, even though she hadn’t actually noticed it until just now. “I’m saying you need another tree for the other side.”

“Mm.” David’s mouth twists to the side as he considers it. “I don’t think we can afford to have a tree just airlifted into the yard right now.”

“Or,” Stevie counters, like that’s not the craziest thing she’s ever heard, because this is David and it’s actually not, “you could just plant a baby tree and let it grow?”

“Oh,” David says, like it’s an easy mistake, honestly, anyone could have made it. “I feel like that would take a long time.”

Stevie heroically manages not to laugh at how earnest he sounds. David is insane, and ridiculous, and he’s her best friend and she loves him so fucking much. “You’d probably just kill it anyway.”

“Excuse me!” David turns to her, outraged. “I think I could manage to keep a tree alive! Unless you think I’m going to kill all the trees that were already here, too?” He sweeps his arms dramatically towards the yard.

“I do,” Stevie says, just to watch him sputter, and this time she allows herself a laugh. “So what are you saying, that you’re going to become a yardwork guy?”

“Oh my God, imagine,” David scoffs. “No, that will very much be Patrick’s territory, thank you.”

“I’m just trying to picture you with a lawnmower.” She is, and it’s delightful. “Do you think you’d manage to get the whole front part done before Patrick had to take you to the emergency room?”

“You’re honestly giving me a lot of credit in assuming I can get the fucking thing started in the first place,” David says, which is a valid point. That dopey half-smile is back on his face; he’s probably imagining Patrick zipping around on one of those ride-on mowers. God, they’re such dorks.

“A garden might be nice,” David says, apropos of nothing, and Stevie turns to stare at him with raised eyebrows. “What, you don’t think so?”

“I don’t know, I guess I never really thought about gardens before. And up until right now, I assumed you hadn’t either.”

“Well, I am.” David’s voice is defensive, but not half as much as it usually is when Stevie challenges him to his face. “In the back, maybe? Nothing too big, or crazy. Herbs, maybe, or some vegetables. I don’t know, I haven’t really thought it through.” He has that breezy, faux-casual tone of voice that only comes out when he’s been thinking about something for _quite_ some time.

“I’m sorry.” Stevie can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Did you just say you wanted a _veggie patch_? Who are you and what have you done with David Rose?”

“Okay, I really don’t think we need to make such a big deal out of this.” That defensiveness is starting to creep back up.

“Are we in the second half of a zombie movie?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one.”

“And who would be tending these veggies?” Stevie props her chin in her hand.

David picks an imaginary thread off his pants and says, “I’m pretty sure I could take care of some tomatoes.”

“First of all, no you couldn’t. And secondly, you are basically allergic to the outdoors - you literally just said you wouldn’t be doing any yardwork, like, ten seconds ago. Do you really think you’re going to just pick up gardening now that you’re a homeowner?”

“Maybe.” David scowls at her, but then his shoulders drop and his expression softens. “I went out to meet a new vendor last week. She makes these candles out of beeswax that she gets from her own bees, which I thought was...nice. And she showed me around her home, and her yard, and her garden-”

“And her bees?”

“She showed me the bees, yes.” David gives her a look for interrupting. “ _Anyway._ She spent a lot of time talking about sustainability, and local resources, and growing your own food, and she made it sound...I don’t know. Interesting? Appealing. Like maybe that could be something we could have too.”

“I assume you don’t mean the bees.”

“No, I definitely do not mean the bees.”

“Smart.” It does sound kind of nice, actually. Stevie doesn’t have a yard, but she wonders if maybe she could stick a little pot of basil in the window above her sink. “Well, I still think you’re crazy, but if you wanted to throw a zucchini or two my way, I wouldn’t be mad.”

“I’m sure.” David is smirking at her, but it takes a second for the joke to land.

“Gross!” she cries, giving his shoulder a shove as laughs.

“You brought it up!”

“Not like that!”

David laughs again, easy and open in a way that Stevie never could have imagined three years ago. It’s a good look on him.

The sun is starting to go down, casting long shadows across the lawn, and the temperature is starting to dip with it. Stevie can feel goosebumps on her arms where she’d pushed the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows earlier. Patrick will be back any minute with the pizza; they ought to get up and at least attempt to find some plates so they don’t end up with their dinner in their laps. Instead, Stevie bumps her shoulder against David’s. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

“So you’re saying you would miss me.” David’s watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Am I saying that?”

“That’s what I heard.”

Stevie rolls her eyes. “I already said that I would, I’m not saying it again.”

“Mhm, ‘k.” After a second, he bumps his shoulder against hers. “Me too.”

Stevie turns away so he can’t see the way it makes her smile, but she’s saved from having to deal with any additional feelings when Patrick’s car pulls into the driveway. David’s on his feet immediately, knocking into Stevie in his haste to get up.

“Thank God,” he says, and then adds, “I’m starving,” like it’s the pizza he’s excited to see.

Stevie follows him into the driveway, gesturing to the two pizza boxes Patrick is pulling out of the car. “I’m assuming one of those is mine?”

“Um, hardly,” David scoffs, adding “Hi” as he kisses Patrick on the cheek and takes the boxes from his hands. “Ooh, you grabbed plates, too?”

“I did,” Patrick says. “I figured it would be easier than trying to find ours in all this chaos.”

“You are the smartest man alive,” David says, sounding like he actually means it.  
  
“Screw the plates, I was promised beer,” Stevie cuts in, though she takes the stack of paper plates and napkins when Patrick holds them out. Next to her, David is balancing the boxes in one hand and trying to peek into the top lid with the other. Patrick gives her a knowing look and pulls out a six-pack as well. Stevie looks at the bottles in his hand and back at his face. “I’m also assuming those are all for me.”

“That’s fine,” David says, gesturing towards the door with an elaborate head shake. “Inside, come on, before it gets cold. And before the moths come out.”

Stevie turns to Patrick, expecting to share one of their knowing David-related eyerolls, but Patrick is watching him as he struggles to balance the pizza boxes and pull open the door at the same time, looking far too enamored with the uncoordinated mess he’s decided to marry. She rolls her eyes by herself instead. “Ugh.”

Patrick finally turns back to her. “What?”

“Nothing.” She hands him the plates and takes the beer instead. “Just thinking about another long evening being the third wheel while you idiots make googly eyes at each other all night.”

“Hey, if you’re too tired to stay and eat, David and I would be happy to take your share.”

“Nice try, Brewer.” She kicks the car door shut. “Hurry up or there won’t be anything left for either of us.”

As if on cue, David pokes his head out the front door. “Are you two coming or do I have to eat by myself? Because I’m not waiting.” He’s back inside before either of them has a chance to respond. Stevie gives Patrick a pointed look and says, “Your husband is a greedy man.”

Patrick laughs. “Only when it comes to food. After you.”

Stevie expects him to be right behind him, but when she turns around, he’s still in the driveway, hands shoved in his pockets as he stares at the front of the house - his house, _their_ house, his and David’s - with a look on his face that’s equal parts contentment and disbelief. Stevie could call out to him and break the spell, but decides not to. David’s not the only one who needs to take a moment sometimes, after all.

  
  
  


2.

“So. This is the front.”

“Okay, but, like, I’ve already _seen_ the outside David, you drove me past it like a _billion_ times before I left.”

“Yes, but we trimmed back the plants so you can actually see the front door now.” The picture on the screen tilts down for a second and then rights itself as David adjusts the grip on his phone, and this is why Alexis hates any type of video chat with her brother. His inability to hold his phone steady always makes her feel a little seasick. Honestly, he’s worse than _Dad_ , and he’s a total disaster when it comes to any type of technology.

Really, and she would never admit this out loud, she’s brought this upon herself. She’d asked David how the house was coming along, expecting a text no less than three paragraphs long and accompanied by at least half a dozen photographs, and David had surprised her by FaceTiming her a few minutes later. Normally, this isn’t the kind of thing Alexis would encourage - especially unprompted, like what if she’d been out in public, _God_ , David - but the only other time she’s seen him this genuinely excited about something was on his wedding day. So if he wants to take her on a dorky video tour of the house - _his_ house, the house that he bought with his _husband_ \- it’s honestly too cute to turn down.

“So when you say ‘we trimmed the plants,’” Alexis says, looking down at her fingernails when the shot goes all wobbly again, “you really mean Patrick trimmed the plants while you sat there and watched him work, right?”

David switches the camera view so he can glare at her.

“Because I don’t really see you on your hands and knees in the dirt like a farmer.” What would he even wear to dig up plants? Even his sweatpants are designer. “But I could totally see Patrick in his garden gloves and his little hat, working all day in the hot sun while you, I don’t know, sit in the shade and try not to get covered in ticks.” She holds her chin up to her hands, lips pursed into a smile. David stares at her for a moment before switching the camera view. He’s walked closer to the front door now to give her a clear view of the flagstone stoop. He’s right, it does look better.

“I’ll have you know I was very helpful. I held open the bag so he could throw all the dead plants inside.”

“Mmm, _so_ important.”

David’s hand reaches out onscreen to the front door, which opens to a small entryway and a staircase. “So these are the stairs.”

“Yay carpet!”

“That will not be staying,” David assures her, as if there was any doubt in her mind. He’s moving down a small hallway.

“Oh my God, let me guess. Is this the kitchen?”

David does, in fact, appear to be standing in the middle of a surprisingly open kitchen, white cabinets and a white tile backsplash, except for behind the stone where the tiles are a striking black (and David assures her they were like that when they moved in, not that she believes him). Alexis hears him mutter, “Okay,” as he turns the phone to give her a full view of the kitchen, with a small island in the center and a cute little breakfast nook with doors that open to the backyard.

“Are those wooden counters?”

“Butcher block, or so I’m told.” David’s disdain for them is obvious. “Those will also not be staying, we just can’t afford to rip them out right now. Apparently.”

“Ooh, what are you going to put in? I’m picturing, like, a really nice black granite. Or maybe white marble, like Ellen and Portia had installed in their Hampton house back in 2009.”

“We were thinking concrete.”

That is not at all what she was expecting. “I’m sorry, what? Are you living in a factory?”

“Okay, one, concrete countertops can look very high-end when done correctly. They’re very in right now.”

“With who?” Alexis cuts in.

“And two,” David says, ignoring the question, “they were Patrick’s idea. So.”

Alexis’s mouth has dropped open in surprise and delight. “Am I hearing you correctly, or did you just allow Patrick to make an aesthetic decision for your home?”

“Mm, no, we came to the decision mutually.” David hums. “And I think they could actually look good. Which is why we agreed to it.”

“Aw, so sweet.” The camera pans into an empty room off the kitchen, windows facing out into the front lawn, and David informs her that this will be the dining room, as soon as they have a table and some chairs. Alexis teases him about the bordeaux wall color and the wallpaper border near the ceiling, both of which are not long for this world.

“If I wanted a home that looks like it was decorated in 1998, I’d move into Herb Ertlinger’s tasting room.”

Alexis hums in agreement, even though she’s never actually been there because she has standards.

“Okay, back this way -”

“Wait,” Alexis interrupts. “Are you taking me through, like, the whole house?”

“Yeah,” David says, like it’s obvious. “What did you think this was?”

Alexis flops back in her chair with a sigh. She should’ve poured herself a glass of wine.

David takes her through the master bedroom on the first floor, part of an addition off the back. (“Oooh, an ensuite!” “Please, as if I’d buy a house that didn’t have an ensuite.”) and then into the living room (complete with a wood-burning fireplace that David has no intention of learning how to use or maintain) before it dawns on Alexis. “Um, David? Where are all your boxes?”

“What do you mean?” David sounds confused, or maybe annoyed, it can be hard to tell.

“Like, your _stuff_ , where’s all the stuff that you guys had all packed up?”

“It’s...out?”

“Out, like... _out_ , out?”

“Alright, I'm going to need you to try and use your words. Out, like, unpacked, yes.”

Alexis can’t believe it. “What, like, _all_ of it?”

David flips the camera back again to look at her like she’s speaking another language. “Yes, all of it.”

“Okay, but you just moved in, though.” Its’s barely been a week, that is literally the craziest thing she’s ever heard.

“Uh, yeah. We moved in, and then we unpacked. What did you think, that we’d just spend our life buried in boxes like a couple of farm animals?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” Alexis says, angling her laptop away from the towers of cardboard that have been stacked up against the far wall since she moved in weeks ago. She’s been _busy_.

David takes her through the bedrooms upstairs - empty, except for the one Patrick’s claimed as his office, where they’ve stored the desk and the tiny sofa from the apartment - and then back down the stairs and out to the deck in the backyard. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter the whole time, talking about the plans they have for the other bedrooms, the walkway they’re hoping to put in the front to match the stoop in the spring, how glad he is that the kitchen and bathrooms needed very little work because pulling up carpet is one thing but _imagine_ the mess. It’s almost impossible for Alexis to get a word in edgewise, but for once she’s happy to let him take the conversational lead and drift along with it. He’s obviously proud of the little house that he and Patrick are turning into their home, and he should be. It’s cute. Maybe not her taste, exactly, but it feels like it fits the two of them, fits the person that her brother has grown into.

They had talked, David and Alexis, the night he told them he was staying, about New York and Schitt’s Creek and everything in between. Alexis would be lying if she said she hadn’t been surprised - and maybe a little hurt - by his decision, but she also thinks that maybe it makes sense for him. Just like she couldn’t live the life she wanted in Schitt’s Creek, David never would have found the home he was looking for in New York. And sure, it had meant downgrading her apartment search from the two-bedrooms she’d bookmarked, but she found a cute little studio near Union Square, with varnished wood floors and an exposed brick wall painted white, and Patrick had gone over the numbers with her three times to make sure she actually could afford it on her own with her Interflix salary. She loves her space now as much as David clearly loves his. In the end, maybe they’d both ended up exactly where they were supposed to be.

“Wow, David,” she says when he finally runs out of steam. “You actually bought a house.”

David switches the camera again so she can see his face, and he’s trying not to smile too broadly. “I know, it’s crazy.”

“No, I mean, it’s a real, actual house! That you bought yourself!”

“Well, not exactly by myself,” David corrects her.

“No, you bought it with your husband, which actually makes it even _more_ amazing.” Before he can say anything snotty in response, she goes on, “And I have an apartment, that I’m renting with my own money! We’re, like, actual adults now!”

David tucks back a smile as he rolls his eyes toward the sky. “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

There’s the sound of a voice off-camera, and David looks to the side with an actual smile. Alexis squeals and claps her hands. “Is that Patrick? You said he was out for a run!”

“I just got back. Hi, Alexis.” Patrick’s voice is closer now, and then he leans into the frame and gives David a kiss on the cheek. Adorable.

David makes a face as Patrick moves away. “Ew, you’re all sweaty. Go and take a shower before dinner.”

Patrick says something that Alexis can’t make out, but when David turns back to the camera there’s a faint blush high on his cheeks. “So I have to let you go.”

“Ew, David! Can’t you two wait until I’m not on the phone?!” _Un_ believable.

“Yeah, why do you think I’m trying to get rid of you? Send me some pictures of your place once you finally get it unpacked.” He smirks like he knows her too well, which, after all this time, he kind of does.

“I’ll have you know that I already started-” but David cuts her off with a brief “‘K, bye” before unceremoniously hanging up on her.

“Ugh!” Alexis closes the laptop with a huff. Outside the window, the drizzle from the afternoon has turned into a cold steady rain. It’s really not the kind of weather she enjoys going out in. She turns around to stare at the stack of boxes behind her. Maybe she could take care of one or two of them tonight.

  
  
  


3.

“Oh Moira!” Johnny walks into the bedroom, where his wife is already seated at the vanity. “Did I tell you I spoke with David today?”

“No, you did not!” She carefully places her wig on its stand and turns to face him fully. “And how is our eldest? Still ensconced in the gentle embrace of marital bliss?”

"Yes, he and Patrick are doing just fine. They said to tell you hello, by the way."

“I hope you told him they could ring me and tell me themselves. It’s been weeks since David and I have been able to exchange more than a word or two.”

“Well, sweetheart, I think it’s been a little hard to get in touch lately, with your shooting schedule being what it is.”

“Yes, there simply hasn’t been a moment to spare,” Moira says, as if she hadn’t been the one to criticize her son’s communication skills just seconds before. She turns to drop the hairpins into the dish next to the mirror, and hesitates before turning back to Johnny. “Did you tell him about the holidays?”

Now Johnny’s the one to hesitate. “Yeah, it might have come up in the conversation.”

“Oh dear.” She looks pained. “How did he take it?”

Not long after he and Patrick had officially moved in, David had started floating the idea of having everyone over for the holidays - faux-casual, like it had only just occurred to him that it might be nice to have Johnny and Moira, and Alexis, and the Brewers all together for Christmas. Just a spur-of-the-moment idea, nothing to get excited about, he just wanted to know what Johnny thought. The thing is, after three years of living in such close quarters, Johnny’s gotten remarkably good at reading his kids, and David had seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of having everyone back together again under one roof - under _his_ roof.

Unfortunately, as December crept closer, it had become increasingly clear that Moira’s time on the show wouldn’t allow them the time to travel anywhere prior to the holidays. They were, in fact, shooting right up until Christmas Eve, the result of an already-tight shooting schedule and increasing pressure from the network. Any attempts by Johnny to convince Moira to use some of her clout to get an early release were soundly shot down by Moira herself. (“Even Nicole has decided to defer her upcoming flight to Australia - do you have any idea how many time zones that is, John?”)

The silver lining was that the cast and crew had been given the week between Christmas Day and January 1 off, which meant they only had to postpone their trip a couple of days rather than canceling it altogether. Unfortunately, that still meant calling David and delivering the bad news that they wouldn’t make it for Christmas like they’d originally discussed. That these plans were never _officially_ set in stone didn’t make a bit of difference. Johnny had thought it only fair that Moira be the one to break the bad news, but when he’d suggested it, she’d cupped his face in her hand and said, “Perhaps we should let cooler heads prevail,” and that had been that.

Johnny had even considered calling Patrick, let him break the news to David instead, but ultimately decided that passing the buck like that was probably a bad idea.

Now, Johnny clears his throat as he considers Moira’s question, and finally says, “Oh, you know. He was fine.”

“Fine.” Moira’s eyebrows go up in disbelief. “Our son has never been able to receive even a modicum of bad news without his fair share of histrionics, and yet now, you expect me to believe that he’s _fine_.”

“It was fine, Moira, what would you like me to say?” Johnny can hear the defensive tone of his voice and makes a mental note to tone it down before Moira can pounce on it like an angry cat.

“Well, I don’t know, John, it just seems a bit unlikely to me. After all, I’m certainly no stranger to David and his caterwauling.”

“No caterwauling, Moira, nothing like that.”

“You did assure him that we would be sending their gifts out ahead of our arrival.”

“I don’t think it was the gifts he was upset about, Moira.”

She turns back to him, like a shark that smells blood in the water. “So he _was_ upset.”

“No! Well, not exactly.” Johnny sits down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. “Maybe a little bit disappointed, if anything.”

“As are we all! But it simply can’t be helped.” Moira turns back to the mirror, and Johnny glances away as she pulls off her false eyelashes. “Who could have predicted how hectic my triumphant return to the spotlight would turn out to be? As if I’d rather be stranded on set, instead of commemorating our son’s first post-nuptial festivities.”

“It would have been nice to have the whole family back together for Christmas,” Johnny says, feeling a bit disappointed himself. “Just like the old times.”

“Indeed it would, and indeed it will be!” She takes out her earrings, placing them carefully on the vanity. “We’ll fly out as soon as we possibly can. We may miss the main attraction, but we’ll arrive in time for the denouement. And I always preferred New Year’s Eve to Christmas, anyway. Much less pressure. And more champagne.”

Johnny had always figured the champagne consumption on both occasions to be about equal, but it’s not a point worth belaboring. “At least Alexis will be there. And she’s extending her trip through the new year, too.”

“Well there you have it!” Moira rises from the vanity seat. “All together again, Mr. Rose, just like you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, but it’s mostly to himself because Moira has already drifted to the walk-in closet to change into her nightclothes. He’s loosening his tie when he hears his phone chime and picks it up to find he has a new email.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he says with a smile. “Moira, it’s from David!”

“What’s from David?” Moira emerges from the closet wearing her striped pajamas, black vest, and a look of concern.

“The email! I asked him to send us some pictures before we hung up, and he did, look.” He tilts the phone as Moira joins at his side so she can see the photos of the house that David has sent. “Wow, it’s really coming along.”

“Indeed.” Moira frowns at the screen as she scrolls. “I still don’t quite understand why he chose to stay behind in this hovel when he could be in New York with Alexis or in LA with us.”

“It’s not a hovel, Moira, it’s a cottage, and he’s not there alone, he’s got Patrick and Stevie.”

Moira hums. “Maybe hovel was a bit harsh,” she acknowledges as she drags her finger down the screen, going back to the beginning so she can scroll more slowly.

The first picture is a shot of the house from the front. The formerly red shutters have been painted black. David and Patrick are standing next to the lamppost; David’s arm is around Patrick’s shoulders and Patrick has his arms wrapped around David’s waist. The next shot is the front of the house again, except it’s evening, the windows glowing warmly in the dusk.

“Oh look, they finished painting the dining room!” Johnny says as he scrolls. They’d heard all about that project the week before.

“I’m not sure I would have gone with that particular hue,” Moira says with a frown.

“What’s wrong with grey? I think it’s nice.”

“It feels a bit cool, doesn’t it? A room positively devoid of passion.”

Johnny glances down at her. “Well, maybe it’ll look different once they get some furniture in there.”

“I certainly hope so.”

They scroll past several pictures of the kitchen with the incomprehensible wooden counters and the striking tilework. There are a handful of pictures of the living room, too, the new sofa and loveseat photographed from several angles to capture the fireplace and all the windows. The room takes up one end of the house, so it receives both the morning and the afternoon sunlight. It’s a warm, inviting space, much brighter than the motel rooms they had called home for three years. Johnny catches a glimpse of Patrick in the corner of one of the photos, halfway out of the shot as he sits in one of the chairs picking at his guitar. It makes Johnny smile, to see the room already looking so lived-in after such a short time.

“No pictures of the master?” Moira says when they scroll past a photo of a room containing a bed and a dresser and not much else, and no less than six photos of the backyard and the deck before realizing they’ve come to the end.

“Oh Moira, I don’t think we need to see the inside of our son’s bedroom,” Johnny admonishes, and Moira sniffs.

“Forgive me for being curious, John. David always did have impeccable taste when it comes to home furnishings, even if his choice of wall color leaves something to be desired.”

“Well, maybe you’ll be able to glance in once we’re actually there,” Johnny says, grimacing at how awkward that sentence feels coming out of his mouth.

“Yes, perhaps.” Moira scrolls up through the pictures again, slower this time. “I suppose it is charming, in its own bucolic sort of way.” She stops at the first photo again, their son with his arms around his new husband, smiling in front of the home they’re building together.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” Her voice has gone softer. 

Johnny puts an arm around her. “Yes, he does.”

She leans her head on his shoulder and smiles. “It suits him.”

  
  
  


4.

The smell of coffee brewing downstairs is what rouses Marcy from her sleep. It’s still early, but not as early as she’d thought, according to the clock. The sun is just slow to rise this time of year.

Clint is still snoring and unlikely to wake anytime soon, so Marcy grabs her robe and belts it tight, sliding on her slippers and letting herself out of the room and shutting the door behind her with a soft _click_.

She expects to find someone in the kitchen, but all the lights are off except for the pilot light above the stove. But the coffee pot is indeed on, letting out the occasional gurgle as it brews, the smell homey and warm. Marcy hesitates for a moment, because she’s obviously the only one awake and the boys’ bedroom is on the main floor, but there’s a rack of oversized white mugs on the counter and a little sugar dish to match, and the lure of early-morning caffeine is too strong to resist. She fixes herself a cup as quietly as she can, placing the spoon in the sink with a mental note to put it away properly once everyone is up.

Cradling the mug in her hands, Marcy tiptoes down the hall and past the bedroom door to make her way into the living room. There’s a thin grey light filtering in through the curtains they’d pulled closed against the cold. Last night they’d lit a fire in the fireplace, Patrick and Clint bickering good-naturedly over the placement of the logs while David pressed an amused hand over his mouth in between sips of wine. Marcy can still catch the faintest hint of woodsmoke if she closes her eyes.

She and Clint had arrived yesterday afternoon, the sun already on its way down, but the cottage was warm and inviting in the waning light. Patrick and David were outside before Clint had even put the car in park, feet slipping on the driveway as they made their way over to exchange greetings and help carry in boxes and bags. David had seemed surprised when Marcy pulled him in for a hug, but he returned it after only a moment’s hesitation, letting her go to shake the hand that Clint had offered. Patrick had been thrumming with nervous energy, anxious and excited to show them the house that he and David had bought together. Marcy hadn’t missed the way David had rubbed his shoulder to set him at ease, or the way that Patrick seemed to relax under the touch. It’s still new to her, the casual little touches she sees the two of them exchange, like they don’t even realize they’re doing it half the time. Patrick had always held himself so carefully whenever he’d brought Rachel over, almost hyper aware of every point of contact they made, right down to a casual brush of their hands. At the time, Marcy had chalked it up to shyness, or a reluctance to engage in any type of PDA in front of his parents no matter how small. Now, of course, she knows better, and seeing the difference makes her happy and sad in equal measure.

Taking in the room around her, she realizes she can’t really tell which elements are David’s and which are Patrick’s. The room is a comfortable blend of mid-century and modern, with a few industrial touches thrown in here and there. The coffee table looks handmade. None of these are things that she would have associated with her son before. There are a few touches that are obvious - she assumes the trio of black and white prints on the far wall are David’s, and that’s Patrick’s guitar standing proudly in the corner, but so much of it is anyone’s guess. It’s a comfortable room, classy in an unpretentious sort of way, and she can understand why Patrick had told her they spend a lot of their time in here now that it’s too cold to sit outside. It’s also completely unfamiliar to her, and she feels it like the sting of a papercut, to know so little of her son’s tastes, even now.

There’s the sound of movement coming from the hall behind her, and then the kitchen light comes on. Marcy takes one more look around the room and then turns back to the kitchen, moving quietly so she doesn’t startle whoever is in there.

Patrick is standing at the sink in a hoodie and sweatpants, filling up the kettle. Marcy notes his bare feet in disapproval but holds her tongue - he’s a grown man, she doesn’t need to tell him to put on socks (even if he should). She makes a soft noise as he turns off the faucet, and he looks over his shoulder in surprise.

“Hey,” he says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He puts the kettle down and dries his hands on his pants so he can lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t think anyone else was up.”

“You know me, I’m an early riser.” She holds up her mug. “I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself.”

“No, that’s what it’s there for.” Patrick puts the kettle on the stove and switches on the front burner, pulling a box of Earl Grey tea bags from the cabinet above the coffeemaker. Her son still prefers tea to coffee - at least that hasn’t changed.

“I was a little surprised to be the only one up when I smelled the coffee,” Marcy says, taking another sip.

“Oh, yeah.” Patrick taps the coffeemaker with his spoon. “I set the timer last night.”

“Ooh, how fancy,” she teases, and he gives a little roll of his eyes as he grins.

“Well. It helps get David out of bed, so at least it’s good for something.”

“Not a morning person, I take it?”

Patrick laughs. “Not so much, no.”

The kitchen is quiet, except for the sound of the water boiling. Patrick is tapping the spoon against the heel of his hand - not anxious, exactly, but restless. Casting about for something to keep the conversation going, Marcy asks, “When is David’s sister flying in?”

“This morning.” Patrick looks visibly happy at the prospect. “David and I are driving out to pick her up at the airport.” Looking uncertain, all of a sudden, he says, “Are you sure you guys don’t mind us leaving you by yourself for a little while?”

“Of course not!”

“It should only be for an hour or so, the airport isn’t too far from town-”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine. Your father and I can fend for ourselves. I was thinking we might take a ride into town, maybe grab a late breakfast. David mentioned your friend bought the cafe?”

“Twyla, yeah.” Patrick pauses. “The food is still mostly the same, though.”

“Well.” Marcy’s heard plenty about the food from David and Patrick both. “You can’t go wrong with bacon and eggs, right?”

“Oh, sometimes you can.”

Marcy laughs softly, but before she can respond, David comes into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his expensive-looking sweatshirt.

“He lives,” Patrick teases, switching off the burner as the kettle starts to whistle.

“Barely.” David pauses on his way to the coffee long enough to give him a peck on the cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

David doesn’t seem to realize Marcy is there until he’s finished fixing his coffee and turns around. He jumps slightly when he sees her. “Oh, Mrs. Brewer. Hi. I mean. Sorry. Good morning.” He covers up his nervousness with a sip of his coffee, running a self-conscious hand through his bed-tousled hair, trying to smooth it down where it’s sticking up slightly on one side. Even his bedhead looks runway-ready.

“Good morning, David,” Marcy says, smiling at him over the rim of her mug. He still seems hesitant around her and Clint, almost shy. Marcy had asked Patrick about it once, during one of their phone calls, but he’d told her not to worry.

“He’s just not used to meeting someone else’s family,” he’d said. “I think it makes him a little edgy. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

Marcy doesn’t take it personally, but it makes her a little bit sad to see the way he holds himself back a little bit when he’s around them sometimes, like he’s worried one wrong move will undo everything he and Patrick have built together. Patrick’s been vague about David’s past - and Marcy doesn’t think it’s her place to ask - but she’s been able to piece together that David hadn’t always had the best of luck when it came to romance, and that it’s made him cautious about letting people get too close. He’s a bit more reserved when they’re face to face as opposed to when they speak on the phone, and she wishes she could find a way to reassure him that he doesn’t have to change a thing, because she and Clint think the world of him. She’s seen David in many different moods - flustered, confident, frazzled, frustrated, and so full of joy - but her first impression of him in person is still the sweet, nervous man who’d showed up to her motel room ready to walk through fire for her son, and how could she not love him like he was family after that?

Patrick is saying something about how they have to start getting ready to leave soon, and David is nodding like he’s listening but his eyes are drifting shut again, right there, on his feet in the kitchen, much to Marcy’s amusement. Laughing softly, Patrick nudges him with his shoulder, urging him to get in the shower. “It’ll help wake you up.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” David grumbles, but does as he’s told, taking his coffee with him. Patrick watches him go with a fond little smile.

“He’s very sweet,” Marcy offers. Her eyes dance in amusement. “Even if he’s not a morning person.”

“He is,” Patrick agrees, looking shy himself all of a sudden. “You’re lucky. He lets very few people see him before 9am.” He smiles again, like he’s sharing a private joke, only it’s not with her. It’s another part of the shorthand that exists between them, her son and his handsome husband, and while she doesn’t necessarily understand it, she loves that it exists, that she gets to see it. That Patrick has found someone who makes him this happy.

This is a version of her son she’s still getting to know, in a way, and there’s a kind of joy in that, in seeing the way he’s come into himself, the way he is now (and perhaps the way he was always meant to be). He’s different, since he came to Schitt’s Creek, but not because he’s changed - it’s as if he’s fuller now, new facets uncovered and brought into the light. It’s wonderful to see the transformation, to get to know her son all over again.

Marcy cocks her head in the near-silence of the kitchen. “I don’t think I hear the water running.”

“Ah.” Patrick takes one last sip of his tea and drops the empty mug in the sink. “I better make sure he didn’t go back to bed, that’s happened before.” He squeezes her shoulder as he brushes past her. Marcy smiles at him as he goes before topping off her own mug and pouring a second cup to bring upstairs. Her own husband should be awake soon.

  
  
  


0.

“Hold on, stop the car, stop stop stop.” David taps his fingers on the dashboard as the car slows to a stop.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Patrick says as he brakes, but David just shakes his head.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ , I just never noticed this house before.”

Patrick puts the car in park and leans forward to look past David out the window. “What, this house?”

“Yes, this house.” It’s one of the only houses visible on a street that’s mostly dominated by farmland and trees, so it kind of feels like a silly question.

Patrick leans back in his seat and says, “Wow.”

“Wow, why wow, what wow?”

“No, nothing, this just seems a little rural for you, that’s all.”

David shrugs with his entire upper body. “I mean, yeah, it’s a little bit... _farm-y,_ but it’s quaint. Doesn’t it remind you of Kate Winslet’s cottage in _The Holiday_?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen it.”

David whips around, fully prepared to admonish his boyfriend over this unacceptable oversight, but he gets distracted by the amused smile on his face. “What?”

“No, nothing.” Patrick shakes his head, but that smile just gets a little bit wider. “I guess I just wouldn’t have expected something like this to catch your eye.”

“You make me sound like a snob,” David grumbles and rolls his eyes, even though it’s sort of true. Sometimes. When it comes to certain things.

“Oh, I would never,” Patrick assures him, and David tries to glare at him but he knows he doesn’t quite pull it off. “No, it’s not that you’re a snob, I just know your tastes can be...particular.”

“What are you saying, that I’m not going to bother with anything smaller than Aaron Spelling’s mansion?”

“You used to live in a mansion,” Patrick points out, using what he thinks of as his reasonable voice.

“Yes, and I also lived in an apartment.”

“You lived in an apartment that was probably bigger than this entire house.”

“Mhmm, and now I live in a motel room with my sister. So.”

Something in Patrick’s expression softens, and it tugs at David’s heart in ways that he’s still not sure how to handle. He has no idea what his face is doing right now, so he covers it up by turning back to the house, crossing his arms through the rolled down window and resting his chin on them. “I just think it’s cute, that’s all.”

“I think you’re cute,” Patrick says, and it’s teasing but it’s also not. David doesn’t have to look back to know Patrick is looking at him with those impossibly fond eyes, and he’s glad Patrick can’t see the equally fond smile on his face. He thinks, not for the first time, that if he’s not careful he could probably fall in love.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he finally says as he sits back up.

“Won’t it?” Patrick counters, and he’s definitely teasing him now. David sniffs to cover up how much he actually enjoys it and tilts his head to the road in front of them. “I believe I was promised lunch?”

“You’re the one who told me to stop,” Patrick points out, putting the car back in drive.

“Okay, well, now I’m telling you to go.” Feeling bold, David reaches out for Patrick’s hand, 10 and 2 be damned, and brings it to rest on his thigh so he can run his thumb across the knuckles. He’s expecting Patrick to pull away as they start to drive, is pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t.

David glances at the cottage one more time in the rearview mirror, mostly obscured by trees as they drive away. He’s not wrong, it _is_ cute. He’s already coming up with reasons for them to come back out this way, an excuse to drive past it again. He’d really like to take another look

**Author's Note:**

> And then they got married and bought their cute house and lived happily ever after, the end.


End file.
